


To be patient

by Skogmus



Category: Descendants (2015)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Child Abuse, Eating Disorder, F/F, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Neglect, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skogmus/pseuds/Skogmus
Summary: Evie works at a coffee shop.One day Mal walks in like she owns the place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new years!!

 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and Evie stands behind the counter, nervously waiting for her shift to end. Her hair is frizzy from the heat, and her apron is stained with cake frosting and coffee spills. There’s almost no people in the shop, just an old man reading the newspaper. He sits in a corner, eating scones, and Evie can’t look at them, not without getting hunger pangs.

Soon she has to take off her apron, put on a jacket and go home, go home and face her mother with the knowledge that she has put on weight. That her skin is unclean. That her hair is frizzy and her makeup less than perfect.

Evie waits, a lump in her throat.

Carlos is hunched over the counter, pages and pages of paper getting marked by his pen. Homework, he assures her. He writes and he writes, and Evie should remind him that he’s at work and they’re not supposed to do other things, but she can’t, not when she knows home isn’t an option for schoolwork, not for him. Not really for her either, now that she thinks about it, her mother always frowns when she does her homework, claiming that _pretty girls like her shouldn’t waste her time on getting good grades._

Pretty girls like her shouldn’t waste her time on getting an education.

Pretty girls like her shouldn’t care about getting a good job.

Pretty girls like her should only focus on getting a man, a rich one, a powerful one.

But Evie isn’t too keen on a man. She isn’t sure she wants marriage, or children. Grimhilde says she has to marry soon, while she’s still young, still beautiful. She says Evie is in her golden age, her peak, that she will only become uglier with time. She already calls Evie ugly though, a disappointment, not good enough.

The doorbell rings, and suddenly Evie is lost in green, shining eyes, open and vulnerable—

Until the girl blinks, and her expression becomes neutral, guarded. Evie looks away, embarrassed. She shouldn’t stare.

Carlos puts away his papers in a hurry, smiling politely at the purple-haired customer. She strides over, confidence oozing off her, and she pins Evie to the wall with her bored, annoyed gaze. “I’d like a latte,” she says.

Carlos nods, taking her money while Evie prepares a cup, pushing the right buttons on the machines. “What’s your name?” she asks, not quite looking the girl in the eye but rather on her forehead.

The girl raises a perfect eyebrow, gesturing to the lack of people inside, but she gives in, anyway. “Mal.”

Mal, Evie thinks. Not the name she would have imagined the girl to have, but it fits her. _Mal with the purple hair and the lime green eyes._

She scribbles the name on the lid, puts it on the steaming coffee and gives it to Mal, who takes it without saying anything more, turning away. She sits down though, on one of the tables, and Evie is glad. She doesn’t want Mal to go just yet.

Carlos pulls out his homework again, and Evie takes up her phone, not doing anything in particularly, but not willing to let her eyes stray to Mal. Not that her eyes would, of course. Mal is just a regular customer.

Evie fiddles with her phone, nervously checking the clock. It’s only ten minutes until her shift is over. She glances at Carlos, sees the little frown, and knows he thinks about the same thing. Neither of them wants to go home.

By accident, _completely by accident,_ she looks over to Mal, who have taken out a little notebook out of her backpack, and is now drawing. Evie stares, intrigued. It looks good, but she can’t quite make out what it is, what she is drawing. She cranes her neck, bows a little over the counter, and then, suddenly, she can see what it is.

“That’s me,” she says, loudly, and her voice is a little hoarse.

Mal stops drawing. She looks up, and Evie swallows, guilty, for some reason. “Yes,” Mal says courtly, and continues with her drawing, only this time her shoulders look tenser.

Mal is talented, Evie realises, seeing how Mal has captured the frizz in her hair, her features and her unclean skin, only, she has made it look _beautiful_. Has made Evie look beautiful.

She wonders if she could tape the drawing to her face, if her mother would be pleased then.

Lonnie and Jane comes bumbling in the door, breaking the heavy silence in the shop. “Hey!” Lonnie calls out cheerfully, panting. “Sorry we’re late! My hair just wouldn’t work with me, honestly Jane, yours is much prettier than mine.”

“No!” Jane insists, her blue eyes widening. “It’s plain and boring, and yours is—“

Evie blinks, taking of her apron. She hadn’t realised they were late. She wonders if her mother will notice, will care. Punctuality is important, but on the other hand, Grimhilde is a busy woman. Maybe she isn’t home, even.

 Judging by the speed in which Carlos packs his bag, his mother certainly will care. He says goodbye to her, face tight, and the he practically sprints out of the shop. Jane and Lonnie looks after him, then at each other, then at Evie, question clear on their faces.

“He has to make the bus,” she lies, and Lonnie’s face relaxes into a big smile, and she puts on her apron, already forgetting all about Carlos. But Jane looks at Evie a bit longer, searching her face, before she turns away, and Evie wonders if she bought it. And even if she didn’t, Jane wouldn’t do anything, not unless she was absolutely sure something was wrong. Evie puts on her jacket, turning around to fetch her phone, and—

Mal is staring at her.

Only for a split second, she quickly turns away, but she was, she was staring at her. Evie swallows, turning away, puts her phone in her pocket. Why would Mal, who is so beautiful, look at her? Or _draw_ her? She wishes they had met another place, where Evie could have refreshed her makeup, brushed her hair. She looks awful today, like when she was younger, when she wasn’t so good at applying makeup as she is now.

Her mother had taught her though, and Evie had learnt quickly.

 “Well, gotta go,” she smiles, heart racing. Jane and Lonnie waves at her as she walks out, and she can feel Mal’s gaze burning into her back. _Nothing to worry about,_ she tells herself, but when she closes her eyes, all she can see is green.

*

There’s no one there when she comes home, so she runs to her room and puts on makeup, puts on foundation and bronzer and rouge, eyeshadow and lipstick, and it works, she looks better. She puts cream and spray in her hair, making it smooth, and she changes, puts on a dress that hides her fat. Her mother already knows how much she weights, of course, and she has chastised Evie for it, multiple times. She always does, but if Evie shows her mother she can still look good with a little extra, then maybe she wouldn’t nag so much?

It’s whish thinking, she knows, but she can’t help it.

She pulls out her science book, reading through the chapter they’re currently working on in school. There’ll be a test soon, and Evie would love to get a better grade than Carlos. It’s a competition between the two of them, and Carlos usually wins in science, while Evie is the best in history. How nice wouldn’t it be though, to be the best in both subjects?

She hears the door open, and she quietly puts down her book, looks in the mirror, and goes to greet her mother.

“I’m home!” Grimhilde announces, rather unnecessarily.

“Hello, mother,” Evie says, standing straight as her mother’s sharp eyes wash over her, searching for imperfections. It is a daily ritual, sometimes even more times a day. And it’s always something to pick on, a flaw, an imperfection.

“Have you even put on mascara?” her mother says with a disapproving frown.

“Yes,” Evie mumbles.

“Then we have to buy false lashes. And you need to lose weight.”

Heart sinking, Evie only nods. Then she won’t eat today either.  Dismissed, she goes to her room, clutching her book to her chest. She can’t concentrate on it. She is hungry, all she has eaten today is an apple, and now it really is catching up with her. Closing her eyes, she lays down on her bed. She almost wants to cry, because nothing she does is ever good enough and she doesn’t know how to change.

If only she looked like that drawing.

Why would Mal draw her? Was it to taunt her, to show her how she could have been beautiful, even with unclean skin, even with dirty clothes and frizzy hair? Was it to show her that she would always be ugly, no matter what she did?

That’s the cruellest thing Evie can think of.

And maybe it could have been bearable, if Mal herself hadn’t been so drop-dead gorgeous. If her eyes hadn’t been so green and her hair so purple. Oh, if only Evie could touch those locks, those soft-looking strays of hair that fell over Mal’s eyes when she talked.

 _Stop it!_ She can’t daydream of someone she had just met. Someone she hasn’t even had a real conversation with. How creepy is that?

Her stomach roars and Evie sighs, wondering if she should go for a run. Maybe her belly will magically disappear then. But, she really doesn’t have the energy, doesn’t have energy for anything anymore. She used to buzz around like a bee when she was younger, but that was before she became horrifyingly ugly.

*

 Evie goes to work the next day too, and the next after that, but Mal doesn’t show up. She disappears, just as soon as she came, and Evie starts to wonder if it was just a dream after all. Like, a girl with purple hair comes in and just draws her? Not exactly realistic.

But then, a whole week after, Mal comes in as if she owns the place, as if she always come in there, and Evie’s heart _jumps._ With shaky hands she prepares her order, latte again, and when Mal gives her her money, there’s a paper note with it. Mal sits down at her usual table, and Evie is busy wrapping up the note. Carlos leans over her shoulder to see what it is, and Evie glares at him.

“Fuck off, dog boy.”

He only grins. “Make me, princess blueberry.”

For an outsider, for _Mal,_ it might seem as if they’re flirting, and suddenly the thought disturbs Evie. With red cheeks she looks down to the note.

It’s the drawing. Of course it’s the drawing, what else could it be? Evie feels stupid, but she almost doesn’t notice it, too lost into the drawing. She looks up from it, and meets Mal’s green gaze. Mal seems tense, as if she is scared of something. Evie can’t phantom what intimidating Mal could be scared of.

“Thank you,” she says, and Mal smirks, rolling her eyes. It’s practically no one in the shop, _again_ (Evie wonders if they’re going bankrupt) and she turns to Carlos.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, and she tugs off her apron and loots a cookie from the counter. Taking it with her she goes over to sit on the chair opposite of Mal’s. Mal is drawing again, drawing her coffee cup, but she looks up, surprised when Evie sits down.

“Hey,” Evie says cheerfully.

“Hi.” Mal doesn’t seem to know where to look.

“You’re really talented.”

This draws a smile form the purple-haired girl. “I know.”

“Why did you draw me?” Evie has to ask, the question burning in her stomach like fire.

Mal doesn’t answer, just keeps drawing, adds some shadows. Evie begins to wonder if Mal never is going to answer, just sit there in silence, but then, finally, she says:

“Because you’re pretty and I was bored.”

Evie almost has to laugh, because she can’t think of a time when she’s less pretty than when she’s working—but maybe there’s where the problem lays. That she is only pretty, not beautiful. Not stunning, not gorgeous.

“I can be prettier,” she says, touching her sweaty ponytail.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mal says, and what a rude thing to say, how cruel. Evie sighs inaudibly, because she’s never been allowed to do it out loud. Her mother would fume, claim it unladylike, and Evie would be forced to read that heavy, ancient book about manners. Again.

But then Mal leans over the table and stares into Evie with those bright eyes. “You have that kind of beauty that—that shines from inside your soul.”

And wow, Evie does _not_ know how to answer that, and she stares stunned and wide-eyed at Mal, who blinks, as though surprised, but then smirks at her. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m not usually this sappy.”

Evie finds herself smiling. “Good.” But she doesn’t mind sappy, not when it makes her heart beat like wild horses, not when all her blood is steaming, not when she is as light as a feather.

They sit there in silence until Jane comes in, big blue eyes widening at the sight at the two of them. “Evie! Aren’t you working?”

Evie is about to answer, but Mal interrupts her. “Oh yeah Evie, get back to work, ‘cause it’s soo many people in here.” She rolls her eyes, smirking coldly.

Jane blushes and looks as if she wants to cry, and turns around with a little wince. She takes Evie’s apron and stares at the counter. Carlos tries to smile at her, but she doesn’t respond. He looks at Evie, lifting his eyebrows in confusion, and Evie shrugs. She looks back at Mal, and she has a dragon-like grin that Evie isn’t sure if she likes or not.

Lonnie walks in with a big pink purse and skull earrings, and only then does Jane look up. She goes quickly around the counter, it looks rather strange, and just buries her head in Lonnie’s shoulder. Lonnie seems to understand, because she rubs Jane’s back and whispers soothingly into her ear. It makes Evie wonder if maybe she’s missed something. If maybe Jane and Lonnie is something more.

Carlos takes off his apron and packs his bag, and they leave together, no matter how much Evie wants to stay. She says goodbye to Jane and Lonnie and Mal, but Mal doesn’t answer.

“So,” Carlos says after walking in the cool weather for a while. “What was that all about?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Evie whispers thoughtfully, and it is the truth. She doesn’t know Mal, doesn’t know anything about her, but she wants to, desperately so.

“Just be careful, right? She’s different.”

“Yeah,” Evie agrees, and thinks about the very green eyes, about the drawing, about the dragon-like grin. “She really is.” They walk silently, but Evie can feel Carlos’ curiosity on her, can feel the question he’s silently asking. “All right,” she says, frowning, and takes up the paper.

He snipes it from her before she’s even got it out of her pocket, and he folds it out, looking over the drawing with clinical eyes, taking in all the lines and all the white spaces.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Evie can never get over just how beautiful it is, can never stop being surprised by it.

“Evie!” Carlos calls suddenly, thrusting the left corner of the note up in her face, showing her a detail she’s missed; a phone number.

“She has a crush on you!” he shouts gleefully, looking as if it’s Christmas.

“No—” That’s wrong, it has to be wrong. “She doesn’t! Carlos!”

“And you have a crush on her!”

“No!”

“This is a fucking romantic comedy!” Carlos is _giggling_ now, and Evie feels torn between hating him and thinking he’s the cutest person she has ever seen.

“Shut up.” She shoves him, and it makes him giggle even more, almost doubling over.

Evie is pretty sure she’s blushing.

When she goes to bed that night, she takes up the drawing again, studies it, but most important, the number. Acting on impulse, she adds it to her contacts, naming it M.

 She feels hot and cold, and she doesn’t sleep that night, her thoughts always returning to purple and green. And it’s not fair, how Mal can have such a grip on Evie, when all she’s done is draw a stupid (amazing) drawing.

*

It’s Friday, and Evie haven’t had the time to call. She’s been busy with school and with work and with home. Yeah. The reason she doesn’t call is because she’s been busy, it’s as plain as that, Evie tells herself as she opens the door to the coffee shop and puts on her apron. Carlos hasn’t come yet, and it’s odd, because he is _always_ on time. Evie tries to swallow down her anxiety.

At the sight of the donuts and the cakes and the sandwiches, her stomach gives a start, and Evie suddenly feels tired, so tired. She couldn’t stop herself yesterday, couldn’t stop eating, and now the shame is turning on her, burning her insides and marring her skin. She feels as though she is expanding, becoming too big to even walk out the door. She’d be stuck inside the coffee shop forever, sweating and ugly.

The doorbell rings, and Evie is snatched out of her thoughts to see Carlos come inn, _still_ wearing shorts, even though it’s late autumn, but he has a scarf doubled around his neck. He doesn’t look at her, his head is bowed, but Evie is too relived that he came to think much over it. “Hi!” she calls cheerfully. Carlos doesn’t answer. Carlos doesn’t respond in any way at all. He takes off his scarf, still facing away from her.

Something tightens in Evie’s stomach, and, carefully, she walks towards him. “Carlos.” Her voice is low, soft. He tilts his head towards her, just barely, but it’s enough. She sees it.

 “Oh,” she whispers, and it’s difficult to breath all of a sudden. She lightly touches the bruise under his eye, and he flinches, finally looking at her, and his eyes are wide and frightened.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, too quickly and too loud, and his hands won’t stop shaking.

“It’s alright,” Evie says, and smiles, trying to make him feel safe, feel warm and loved. He smiles back to her, a nervous, little twitch, but it’s a start and it’s a smile. She wants to say something more, something to make him laugh and forget, but the doorbell rings and a group of mothers with their babies come in with strollers and backpacks, and it’s back to work.

But, Evie can’t stop thinking about it, even as she smiles and makes coffee for sleep depraved young women with messy hair and old sweaters, can’t stop the unease and the fury. Can’t stop plotting the death of his mom. Maybe she could let Carlos live with her, but no, _her_ mom would never allow it, would be rabid, would shout and scream, and then, the worst part, would be silent and cold for days and weeks and months…

Okay, maybe not _months,_ maybe not, but it would be close to. And nothing makes Evie feel worse than that silence, that cold stare, nothing makes her feel more worthless, like dirt. Evie usually have to make it up in some way, buy her mother expensive jewellery or clothes or something, something her mother can’t resist, greed winning over pride.

Something touches her shoulder and she jumps, dropping the cup she has been holding, and lukewarm coffee spills everywhere. Evie sighs as she fetches the mop, and Carlos looks apologetic as he withdraws his hand.

“Sorry.”

“I spaced out, it was an accident.” Evie is not letting him take the blame today, not when his eyes are still so wide. He stares at her as she mops up the coffee, and he’s quiet, and then Evie remembers that he had tapped her shoulder.

“What was it you wanted, though?” She puts the mop back in the closet, waiting patiently for him to talk. Because she is nothing but patient today.

“I just—have you called her?”

It takes Evie a second to understand what he means, but then she does.

“Oh, uh. No. I’ve been busy. You know, with school and all.” It irks her a little that no matter how much she studied, Carlos still won the science test. She’s not bringing it up today, however. She’d rather beat him on the next.

“Well, do it now!”

“I’m working.”

“C’mon, it’s just a quick call!” Carlos looks pleadingly at her, and all she sees is his damn bruise, but there’s a hint of a smile at his lips. She sighs. She can’t really say no, can she?

“Bastard,” she mouths as she fishes up her phone, and Carlos smirks, eyes lighting up. Anxiously, she opens up her contacts, and, before she has time to reconsider, taps the big M. Evie takes a deep breath, listening to small _beep_ ’s.

Mal answers quickly, and it’s almost as if she’s been waiting for Evie to call, but surely that’s not the case. Evie figures Mal’s just phone addicted.

“ _Hi there, princess,”_ Mal says into the phone, and Evie can practically _hear_ her smirk.

“Hello,” she says, and tries to not sound nervous. “How did you know it was me?”

_“I don’t get phone calls.”_

“That explains it.” Evie frowns. “Why did you want me to call?”

 _“I didn’t_ want _you to call, I just gave you the option. Maybe you didn’t like your portrait.”_

“I did. I told you I did.”

_“You just said I was talented.”_

“Of course I like it. It’s absolutely stunning.”

Mal is silent, and Evie frowns, tries to figure out what she did wrong. Tries to figure out if Mal is mad at her, if she should hang up. But then Mal speaks again, loudly, confidently.

_“You wanna hang out?”_

The question takes Evie off guard. Hang out? What does that even mean? Can they even do that?

“Now?”

 _“Yeah?”_ Mal sounds impatient, speaks slow as if Evie is stupid and slow and can’t process even the simplest request. Evie bites her lip and answers before she can think about it.

“Sure!”

Mal laughs into the phone, and it’s the prettiest sound Evie have ever heard, it’s music. _“Alright. Meet me at the cinema in five.”_ Then she hangs up, as if that’s it, as if she doesn’t need to talk anymore.

But Evie’s at _work,_ and she can’t just _leave._ Although, if it’s just this once…

“Carlos?”

“Well?” Carlos asks, and he looks so excited, just like a puppy, even with the bruise and the slightly calmer eyes.

“Do you—could you be here alone for the rest of the shift?”

Carlos’ smile fades slightly. “Um.”

“Please!”

“Jane is going to have a fit.”

“I know, but—” Evie doesn’t know what comes after the “but”, doesn’t know what can justify this.

Carlos stares at her, then at the floor, then a quick glance at the customers—and then he sighs and nods. “Promise me you’ll tell how it went.”

“I will!” Quickly, she puts on her coat, her hat and her gloves, rushes out the door before remembering _Carlos,_ and then she runs back in. Gently, minding the bruise, she puts a hand on either of his cheeks, and she gives him a kiss of gratitude on his forehead, ever so softly. Carlos gasps audibly, but not too loud, not so loud that it sounds theatrical. “You’re my best friend in the entire world,” she murmurs, holding him close to her, trying to send him all her love. She thinks he gets it, because he touches her hand with his own, and she feels his warmth, reminding her that he’s alive, he’s breathing and his heart pumps blood.

“See you on Monday,” he says, and that’s a goodbye, a cue for Evie to leave and go meet Mal. Sending him one last, reassuring smile, she goes out in the cold air, nervousness making its way with her. It’s not snowing yet, and the sun actually shines, and Evie takes that as a sign that this is right, that things will take a turn to the better.

Mal’s waiting, right outside the cinema, and Evie’s heart jumps, because she hadn’t expected her to actually be there. Had almost been certain that this was a joke, a cruel prank played by the girl with the dragon-like grin, but it’s not, she’s there, waiting. Waiting for _Evie,_ who can’t even look good enough, can’t be good enough.

“Hey,” Mal says, and her cheeks are rosy and sweet, her smile playful. She’s wearing a purple leather jacket, and it looks awfully cold.

“Hello.”

They stand in awkwardness for a second, it’s embarrassing.

“Were you at work?” Mal says suddenly, and Evie was not expecting that.

“Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?”

Mal points to the apron she forgot to take off, and now Evie knows she is turning crimson.

“Oh, right.”

Mal laughs, and it’s the most innocent and pure sound Evie have heard coming out of Mal. Where is the girl with the dragon-like grin, she wonders. How can someone have such contrasts in them?

It seems like Mal is a different person every time they meet.

Belatedly, Evie realises that Mal is looking at her again; that they have grown quiet again. Sticking her hands in her pockets, she cocks her head.

“What do you want to do?”

And _there’s_ the grin, the light in her eyes that gives Evie chills, that makes her hot and cold and heavy and light and everything in the world. Mal leans close, mere inches from Evie’s face—and she almost stops breathing, at Mal so near—and grabs her gloved hand.

“C’mon,” Mal breathes. “I’ll show you.”

*

The pond is half hidden behind flavescent leaves and an air of mystery, and it’s already frozen over. Mal takes off her helmet and Evie does the same—though she’s still a bit shaken after the wild scooter trip. “Nicked it from my bro,” Mal says, but Evie can’t phantom how you just nick a _scooter_.

“You have a brother?” she asks instead, because it’s hard to imagine a girl like Mal with siblings.

“No, we’re just—um.” Mal bites her lip. “We’re _friends_ ,” she continues, with a determined look in her face. Evie can see it’s hard for Mal to say it, but she doesn’t understand why, and it makes her feel a little bit uneasy. But she smiles, because that’s what pretty girls _do,_ and Evie is supposed to be pretty.

“Alright,” she says warmly, and lets the matter go. She looks at the pond, which reflects golden light from the sun, and she feels like she’s inside a default phone wallpaper. “Why are we here?”

Mal rolls her eyes, that cute, little gesture she apparently does so often. “We’re skating.”

“But… Neither of us have skates?” Evie can’t help but frown in confusion.

“So?” Demonstrative, Mal goes out on the ice, gliding carefully a few meters before turning to Evie.

“You coming?”

Cautiously, Evie takes a step out on the ice. It’s not even winter yet, and she’s afraid the ice will break, but Mal is waiting for her and that’s motivation enough. She pushes her foot against the ice and skates, loses control and regains it right after. She’s cold, even with her thick coat, with her hat and her gloves—she can’t imagine wearing just a leather jacket. But Mal looks warm enough.

However, Evie knows better than anyone how looks can be deceiving.

“Aren’t you cold?” she calls, But Mal laughs and shakes her head. She runs and glides to Evie, and she looks so graceful, almost like a fae. A fae with purple hair and green eyes, a fae with a dragon-like grin and leather jackets when the cold is biting.

“Stop worrying,” she says, a lazy grin spreading on her face. “Can’t you see how beautiful it is here?”

And Evie _can,_ now that Mal prompts her, can see the shadows behind the trees and the sparkle in the ice; can see the warmth in the leaves and the calm in the mountains far away from them. But more prominent is the green in Mal’s eyes, her plush lips and her soft skin, her shoulders, and above all, her expression, open and full of happiness.

Evie wants to reach out and touch, maybe her cheek or maybe her lip, but Mal is gone before she can, is skating away, free. Evie wants to be free, desperately so.

 Gathering courage, she pushes of and glides, fast, faster than she really dares. Holding back a scream she feels the harsh wind in her face, feels it running right through her coat and her apron and her sweater. But it’s fun, it’s terrifying. She goes faster, until it’s difficult to control herself, until the lump in her stomach disappears, until she can’t remember her mom or Carlos or her weight. She goes faster, faster, and then she collides and she stops altogether.

“Ow…” Mal says from underneath Evie, having cached the worst of the fall. She looks oddly calm, nearly serene, and her delicate lips looks plump and pink. Evie can’t help it, can’t help her head leaning forward, but before their mouths can meet, she hears a crack.

She understands what’s going to happen a millisecond before it does, and she can see in Mal’s panicky expression that she does too.

The fragile ice breaks, as it so often does in the autumn, and Mal falls first and Evie falls second. They don’t scream, it happens too quickly for screaming, but they whimper when they hit the water, the dark, cold water. Evie can feel it instantly, through her thick layers of clothing. She flails aimlessly, not a single thought in her head, and her lungs _burn_ as the rest of her freeze. But somehow, miraculously, she manages to find the air, and with all her mighty strength she pulls herself up, gasping after air. She can’t get her feet up, only her head and upper body, and she takes a little rest, cursing her week arms and her wide hips, her _shameful_ and _gross_ stomach.

But when her brain works again, she discovers to her horror that Mal isn’t there. That Mal isn’t anywhere.

“Mal!” she calls, growing more and more hysteric, because it’s a very real chance that Mal will _die_ here, drown in the unapologetic water. As quickly as she can with her freezing fingers, Evie takes of her burdensome coat, and dives after her, scared out of her mind. It’s dark, too dark. She can’t see anything, and she can’t hold her breath for long, and too soon she has to go up again. A sob escapes her, and her teeth rattles.

Evie has never been so terrified in her entire life. Not when Carlos had called that one time, when he had said goodbye and told her he didn’t think he would last the night, not when she had been cornered by those girls in sixth grade, not even that time her mother had cached her with her first boyfriend. And none of those times had ended well, had always ended with Evie crying to herself in her room.

She dives again, swims deeper and deeper, searching with her hands after the slightest touch of skin, of hair. But her hands have gone numb, as with the rest of her body, and she can’t find her, can’t find Mal.

But then, all out of the blue, a hand grabs her, holding so hard it will surely bruise. Evie startles, opens her mouth without meaning to, and the air leaves her lungs, leaves in big bubbles, and Evie has no choice but to kick, to try and swim up, she needs to get _up,_ to the air. Mal is heavy, holds Evie down, but Evie is strong enough for the both of them. She drags herself up, drags Mal, and then at least they’re breathing, at least their heads are above water.

Mal coughs, pants, sobs. She shivers, and her eyelids are heavy, but she grips the ice and pulls, pulls herself up. She turns to Evie, gives her hand, again. Evie takes it, and finally, they manage to get themselves up. Evie lays down, exhausted and cold, her mind empty.

“W-we can’t stay here,” Mal says through rattling teeth. “My house—it’s not far. Get on the scooter before we freeze to death.”

“I can’t,” Evie whines, her body feels like a bag of rocks. Her eyes are closed, she is near asleep. Oh, she wants to sleep, to rest.

“You can,” Mal murmurs, and there’s something warm and soft on Evie’s lips, something that gives her strength, but when she opens her eyes, there’s nothing there. “C’mon.”

Finally, Evie gets off the ground. She walks slowly to the scooter, feet stiff and aching, but she gets there, and she wraps her arms around Mal’s petite body. “Please don’t go too fast,” she says quietly.

“I won’t,” Mal promises.

The drive is torturous, the wind numbing every fibre in Evie’s being. She pushes close to Mal, finds some heath to stay sane, and she imagines it’s worse for Mal, who has to concentrate on driving as well. It lasts for years, decades, lifetimes, and Evie grows old and withers and gets reborn, but then they’re there and it’s as if they never were any other place.

Mal’s house is… huge. Almost like a castle, is definitely inspired by one, with dark walls and small windows. It makes sense. _Here lives princess Mal._

Mal fumbles with the key, her hands have a blueish tint and are stiff, but she manages it, miraculously. She opens the door and the two frozen girls hurries inside. Mal shows her the way to the bathroom, which has a warm floor and Evie almost cries. Mal gives her clothes to change into, a hideously yellow wool sweater and soft pants. Mal wears wool herself, and it makes looks so small, so soft and homely that Evie has to stomp down the urge to—what?

_The urge to what?_

To kiss her. To kiss Mal.

God, how Evie wants to kiss Mal.

They sit under a blanket on Mal’s sofa, drinking hot cocoa and watching silly cartoons, and gradually Evie warms up.  There’s space between her and Mal, space with cold air and knows how warm they could be if they just leant on each other, but she doesn’t dare.

“Are you feeling better?” Evie says instead.

“Yeah, barely. You?”

“I feel wonderful.” Evie is genuine, but it sounds sarcastic to even her own ears.

Mal snorts. “Hope you forgive me for nearly drowning you.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Um, yeah, it was. I dragged you with me on the ice.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Whatever.”

They sip their cocoa in silence. Evie breaks it.

“Why did you disappear? In the water, I mean?”

No answer. Evie looks away from the screen where apparently, the giant alien is two smaller aliens, and peeks carefully at Mal. She is staring down her cup.

“Mal?”

“I can’t swim,” she says, voice monotone. She doesn’t look up.

“Oh,” Evie says. “That’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mal says quickly, a tad too defensively.

“No reason of course.”

Silence. Then—

“Where are your parents?” Evie asks, and it’s thoughtless, but she’s curious. It’s getting rather late, after all.

“Working.”

“Now? Night shifts?”

“No.”

“No? But— “

“Evie.” Mal looks at her now, finally, but there’s irritation and annoyance clear in her eyes. “It’s late. You need to go home.”

“But I just— “

Mal raises her eyebrows. Evie swallows.

“I’ll go. I’m sorry. Thank you for the clothes, I’ll return them later.” She takes the bag with her wet clothes and almost runs out, a ache in her heart.

She doesn’t cry until she’s on the bus, and even then it’s quietly and unnoticeable.

*

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“You almost _died?_ And you drove a _scooter_ afterwards?”

“Yes, Carlos,” Evie says, a sliver of annoyance in her voice. She hands a coffee to some teenager with bad acne, smiling politely as she does so. “That’s what I said.”

“That’s—fuck, either you’re soulmates or soul _enemies,”_ he says, shaking his head. “And nuts. Completely nuts.”

“ _Thank you,_ Carlos.” She dries her sweaty hands on her apron. “What did you tell Jane?”

“That you were sick. I don’t think she believed me though.” He looks at her with concern, pushing his hair away from his face. His bruise has faded well, but it’s still there and it makes Evie so angry, so mad that someone could hurt her best friend in such a way.

“I’ll deal with it,” she says nonchalantly.

“She has probably told her mom.”

“I expect no less.”  Jane’s mom, jokingly referred to as ‘Fairy Godmother’, runs the place. She is kind and fair, but very strict. Evie realizes that she could very well be fired over this, but it was worth it. Mal is worth it.

Speak of the devil, she thinks as the door opens and Mal comes in, gaze lowered and hands tucked inside her sleeves. She is wearing a big jumper today as well, under a rain coat, as if she’s still cold. She looks so small, and Evie wants to hug her, to touch her and protect her.

“Um,” Mal says. “Do you have time?” And Evie almost answers _yes,_ but her job is already at risqué, and she doesn’t dare, not now.

“I’m sorry, I have to be here. My shift doesn’t end until two hours.”

“Okay, can you—can you meet me then, um, at the cinema? Nothing life threating this time, promise.” Mal smiles slightly, a bitter little thing.

“Of course, Mal—wait.” Evie takes a cup and makes a latte, gives it to Mal. “On the house,” she says and smiles warmly. _I forgive you._

“Thanks,” Mal says, and she doesn’t look so small and lost now, more like the dragon Evie knows she is. She waves a little with the coffee, and leaves, not looking back.

“She looks different,” Carlos comments as soon as Mal is out of earshot. “Smaller, somehow.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Evie responds lightly. She doesn’t want to give anything away, not about Mal. It’s selfish, but she wants to keep the girl all for herself, wants to hide her from the world and keep her close.

The hours go by slowly, and Evie grows nervous and irritated. Was Mal going to break up with her? Or, that wasn’t possible, because they weren’t even together. They had gone on _one_ date, maybe, and they had almost _died._ If that wasn’t a sign from fate, Evie doesn’t know what is.

The shift finally ends; Evie takes off her apron and puts on her coat and is about to go out when Jane comes in. “Evie.”

“Hey Jane,” Evie says, lump in her throat. She tries to ignore it.

“Mom wants to talk to you.”

_Oh God._

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, okay?”

“She wants to talk to you today,” Jane says icily.

“Listen, I have to go right now, but I’m free tomorrow,” Evie says desperately. She has to meet Mal, she just has to. She won’t survive if she doesn’t.

Jane looks at her suspiciously. “It’s that girl, isn’t it.”

Anxiety bubbling, Evie nods. “I have to meet her.”

Jane looks at her again, pierces her with those intensely bright eyes, her mouth a thin line. But then she sighs. “Promise you won’t run away from work again and you can go. I’ll talk to mom.”

Evie blinks, befuddled. “Th—thank you, Jane.”

“Aw, look at that,” Lonnie grins. “My girl is a big softie!” She wraps Jane into a big hug, kisses her cheek. “Although I already knew that,” she murmurs. Jane smiles.

“Evie,” Carlos says from by the door, scarf in place, ready to go. “What are _you_ waiting for? Go stop that airplane!”

Right, Mal. Sending a nervous and grateful smile to her friends and colleges, Evie hurries out, heart pumping; blood rushing. She almost sprints, the only thing stopping her is the fact that people would stare if she did.

Mal stands there, at the exact same place as last time, waiting for Evie again. Evie wonders if it’s always going to be like this, Mal waiting and Evie scurrying after.

Mal looks up from her phone. “You came.”

“I told you I would.” Evie frowns. Did Mal think she would get stood up?

“Mm…” Mal hums, her hands are moving, pushing her hair behind her ear, tapping her tight, fiddling with her phone. It’s so clear that she’s nervous, but Evie doesn’t know for _what,_ and it’s making her nervous too.

“Mal?” she prompts.

“Let’s go to a café. I’m cold.” Mal turns, she doesn’t look at Evie. Evie follows. She’ll always follow Mal.

They enter a sweet café painted in yellow, with pastel pink curtains, and it doesn’t seem like Mal at all, but Evie is starting to see more of Mal and few things surprise her now. Mal drives scooters and glares and wears leather jackets, but Mal also wears wool sweaters and draws and apparently, goes to cafes with pink curtains. It’s obsessing, and it makes Evie want to know all the sides of Mal.

Mal orders a sandwich with chicken, and it sounds lovely, but Evie can’t eat now. Her weight is still too high, her figure is still too big.

“A cup of tea, please,” she says to the nice waiter with glasses and a stutter.

“Aren’t you gonna eat something?” Mal asks, looking at Evie curiously.

“Ah, no… I’m not—I’m not hungry.” Evie swallows. She doesn’t like to lie, especially not to Mal, but she has to. She has to.

“C’mon, you have worked for hours, you have to be hungry!”

“Um, maybe a little, but I need to watch my weight, yeah?” Evie giggles a little, 

“What?” Mal says sharply.

“Yeah you know, there’s a little extra here—“ she pinches her stomach. “—or a lot…”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah?” Why wouldn’t she be serious? Can’t Mal see, can’t she see how _fat_ Evie is, how gross and ugly and _awful?_

“Evie, you’re—you’re absolutely perfect, don’t you know? What the fuck, I… You’re so pretty, pretty on the inside, remember?” Mal says it like it’s true, which is kind of her.

“Maybe,” Evie reluctantly agrees. “But pretty on the inside isn’t enough for mother.”

“What?”

“It’s not—it’s not enough, I’m not enough. I try to be, but—“ It’s hard to talk suddenly, hard to breathe.

Mal leans over the table, puts a hand on her shoulder, supporting. “Evie, fuck your mother.”

Evie flinches. She can’t look Mal in the eye anymore, it’s too intense, too green.

“My mom hasn’t been home for five months,” Mal says softly. Evie lifts her head. “I don’t know where she is, or what she’s doing, or even if she’s alive, and frankly, I don’t care.” It’s such a bold statement that Evie simply knows it’s untrue, but she doesn’t challenge Mal.

“And it’s alright, for the most part—but the nights are, they’re so—I’m so _afraid,_ I have every lamp on, but.” Mal takes several deep breaths. “I’m so _weak,_ and I have to be so strong, I have to, but I’m not.”

“You are so very strong,” Evie whispers, she puts a hand on Mal’s cheek. “Believe me, you are.”

“And you’re beautiful, inside and out.”  

Evie doesn’t believe her, and she can tell Mal doesn’t Evie either. Her thumb strokes lightly over Mal’s eyebrow, and Mal leans into the touch, never breaking eye contact. It makes Evie’s heart jump.

“Let’s eat, okay? It can be a salad or whatever, as long as it’s something.” Mal speaks quietly, but her words are loud.

“Okay,” Evie murmurs. Okay.

They order, and they eat. Evie eats almost half of her salad before she has to stop, and Mal doesn’t push. It’s nice. Feels safe, somehow. After that they talk, about nothing, about silly little things that doesn’t matter, not in the big run, but Evie enjoys it, making conversation with Mal. The hours fly by, and it’s dark outside, all of a sudden. It’s always dark outside in the winter, so Evie doesn’t think much of it before she sees the clock upside down on Mal’s phone and flinches. It’s too late.

“Oh, I have to go,” she calls, getting up from the chair and putting on her coat. Mal stands as well.

“Goodbye then,” she says, and there’s a whole meter between them, cold, unforgiving space.

“Goodbye.” Evie steps closer, draws Mal into a hug. “You’ll be safe tonight,” she whispers into her ear, and she can feel her shudder. They stay like that for a minute, two minutes, almost five minutes before Mal steps away.

“Goodbye,” she says again, firmly. She smirks. Evie wants to kiss that smug face. She doesn’t, however. She goes out of the café, waving, and catches the bus home. She thinks about Mal the whole ride, thinks about her smile, her eyes, the way she touched Evie. She had said that Evie is pretty. Had wanted her to eat. Had been angry at her mother, on her behalf. It made Evie feel incredibly warm and soft, as if Mal was a bonfire. As if Evie was worth defending.

The door was unlocked when she came home, and it instantly set her on edge. She remembered her hair was in a sweaty ponytail, that her makeup was probably smudged over her whole face. Hands shaking, she went inside.

Grimhilde sits by the kitchen table, working on her pc, but she looks sharply up at Evie. “Where have you been?” she demands, voice shrill.

“Working,” Evie says weakly. She hangs her coat up, takes off her shoes.

“Not this long you haven’t! Tell me where you have been!”

“I took an extra shift, mother, I promise,” Evie says, but she’s underwater, she can’t think clearly.

“Don’t lie to me!” Grimhilde says, voice low, intimidating, sharp. “Have you been with a boy?”

“No.” Evie is relived she doesn’t have to lie this time.

“You have!” Her mother’s eyes are almost glowing. “Have you slept around? I didn’t raise a slut!” She’s loud now, and Evie wishes she would stop yelling. She can’t bear it.

“I’m not, mother.”

“No, I suppose not. Who would ever look at you when you look like that?”

_Mal would. Right?_

“I’m so ashamed of you!” Grimhilde spits, and even though she’s sitting down, it’s like she’s towering over Evie.

“I’m sorry,” Evie says, lowly, pathetically.

“You’re a hideous beast!”

There’s water in Evie’s ears, in her brain, it’s distracting. She can’t focus.

“Go to your room; I’m sick of seeing you.”

With that, Evie flees, up the stairs, into the safety of her own room. Only, it isn’t a safe space, it’s a prison, claustrophobic and unforgiving, and Evie _can’t be there._ Desperately, she opens the window, and the cold air calms her a little. Evie breathes. The water is slowly drippling away. ‘

But she can’t stay, not tonight. She bends out of the window, looks down. It has to be at least ten meters down to the asphalt ground. She doesn’t dare to jump.

Carefully, she lifts her left foot out the window, finds hold on the windowsill. Once she’s sure she’s steady, she lifts her right foot as well. Then she starts to ease down, putting her feet in the cracks off the bricks. It takes time and it’s unsafe, but ever so slowly, she climbs down. Climbs to freedom. When her toes touch the ground, she almost giggles, nervousness disappearing and pure joy taking its place. She feels invincible.

She doesn’t really have plan though, without a coat or shoes. She feels the wind, no longer comforting and cool, but harsh and biting. She doesn’t even have money with her.

_Mal._

Of course.

Quickly, she takes up her phone, opening up Mal’s contact, the single M. She pushes the call button almost before it’s open.

Mal, bless her, takes it at once.

_“Evie?”_

“Mal, I’m so sorry for calling, but I need you to meet me by the cinema, please. I kinda ran away from home and I don’t have shoes and it’s cold.” Evie talks fast, she can hear the desperate streak in her own voice.

_“What? Evie—“_

“Meet me by the cinema, please.”

 _“Okay, I’m coming!”_ She sounds irritated, bothered, annoyed.

Evie walks quickly to the cinema, and her socks must be so dirty now, they’re wet and gross and Evie wants to take them off, but it’s too cold to go barefoot. People are staring, they’re staring at _her,_ and Evie tries to avoid them, but they’re everywhere.

Mal’s driving the scooter again, and she looks concerned when she jumps off it and goes close to Evie. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t stay there tonight,” Evie says, frowning when she hears how silly it sounds. Why couldn’t she stay there? She would have been left alone for the rest of the night, Grimhilde had said it herself. Ungrateful, that’s what Evie is.

“Okay,” Mal says softly after a beat. She opens her backpack and takes out a pair of worn purple converse. “I brought you shoes.”

“Thank you!” Evie gingerly puts them on, liking the feel of them. She enjoys shoes, enjoys buying new shoes and feeling powerful in them, but these makes her feel safe and _cared for._

 _Mal cares for her._ What a miracle, a wondrous blessing. It sends sparks to Evie’s heart, to the bonfire inside her, burns her insides away, until all that’s left inside her is that devouring fire, that wild, powerful inferno, and before Evie can think better of it, she pushes Mal closer and _kisses_ her.

Mal is caught offhand, that much is clear, and she stumbles backwards before catching herself, and now she’s kissing back, and her lips are so soft against Evie’s. Mal puts a hand on Evie’s cheek, as if she can’t get enough of Evie, and Evie can’t get enough of Mal, not when the water is gone, damped away.

It’s Mal who breaks it though, eventually. She puts her forehead against Evie’s forehead, and stays like that, while she breathes. “People are staring.” And sure enough, when Evie looks around, she can see them, staring, as if Evie and Mal is a movie. _Shoo,_ she wants to say.

“Let’s go home,” Mal says, her voice hoarse. Evie nods. She climbs on the scooter almost in a daze, mind elsewhere, still stuck on Mal’s lips. It feels like she’ll never be able to think of something else, and she can’t really see a problem with it.

The scooter roars, and Mal drives fast, so fast she must be breaking the speed limit. It’s intimate, with her arms wrapped around Mal, darkness around them. The brunt of the wind hits Mal, she’s protecting Evie. It’s like a fairy tale, Evie thinks. Mal is the valiant knight, no, she’s the _dragon,_ setting Evie on fire, rescuing her. But Evie has rescued Mal too, she remembers, she remembers when Mal nearly drowned. It makes sense that she can’t swim when she’s pure fire.

Mal stops; they’re there. She waits for Evie to get off the scooter, looking a little self-conscious. She hesitates. Evie grabs her hand, kisses it. “What’s wrong?”

“I told you I was afraid of the dark.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t—don’t think less of me,” she says, and opens the front door.

Mal hadn’t lied; every lamp is indeed on, bright. The mirror in the hallway is covered with a blanket, and the curtains is firmly drawn shut. Evie takes off her—Mal’s—shoes, and waits for Mal to do the same. It takes time. It seems like Mal is fumbling with the laces in an eternity. But she straightens up, because that’s what Mal does, faces it all with a brave face and a confident stride, and Evie, little, scared Evie, can’t help but admire her for it.

“C’mon,” she says briskly, but takes Evie’s hand and gives it a little squish, a tender gesture. She leads Evie into the living room, to the sofa where they had drunk cocoa the one time, only now there’s a pillow and a blanket there. A knife lays on the kitchen table and Evie’s heart breaks.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh Mal.”

“Don’t,” she says sharply. “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not,” Evie says, but she can hear Mal’s snort.

“It’s not like I need it,” she says, picking the knife up. It’s not very big, but rather long, and very sharp. She drops it. “It’s just, a security blanket. Just in case.”

“I understand,” Evie says truthfully. “I would have done the same.”

“Right,” Mal mutters.

A beat passes.

“Thank you for coming for me,” Evie whispers. She puts her arms around Mal, hugs her. Keeps her close. She’s warm, but her skin doesn’t have scales at all. It’s soft and nice, clean, unlike Evie’s skin.

“I want to show you my room,” Mal says. She draws back until they see each other’s face. She has lines between her eyebrows and around her mouth, expression tight. Anxious.

“Okay,” Evie agrees. She lets go of Mal, who turns, leads her to her room.

It probably doesn’t mean as much as Evie makes it out to be. But then again, maybe it does.

They go up a big and crooked stairwell, pictures of Mal and a tall, intimating, beautiful woman who can only be Mal’s mother hanging on the walls.

“You were adorable,” Evie says into the heavy silence. It echoes.

“Fuck off,” Mal says, grinning.

It does resolve some tension.

Finally, they reach the top of the stairs, and they go into a smaller hallway where that floor is hard wood and the roof is low. It seems nicer, somehow. Free.

“Here,” Mal says, opening one of the doors. She stops, lets Evie go in first.

It’s not a small room, but smaller than most of the other rooms in the house. The walls are painted purple, with the exception of paintings on the wall, paintings off dragons and knights and princesses. It seems like Mal likes fairy tales too.

Where the wall isn’t painted, there hangs literally hundreds of drawings, done in charcoal, done in colour. It’s of things, of people. Evie can see the woman from the pictures, Mal’s mother, and she can see a boy with a kind smile and happy eyes. She can see the coffee cup, can see the pond, can even see the sun reflecting in it.

“Wow,” she says, because it’s the only word that comes to mind. A sound startles her, and she turns swiftly around.

Mal is _giggling._ Actually giggling, childish, joyful giggling, she even _snorts,_ and it’s about the most adorable thing Evie have ever heard in her entire life. She starts giggling too, can’t hold it in, Mal’s contagious, addicting.

“ _Wow_? That’s all?”

“What more is there to say?” Evie says, mock-offended. Mal doesn’t answer, too busy trying to stop her giggles. It takes her a whole minute to gain control again.

“You’re amazing,” she says, low, as if it is a secret. Evie hums, leaning into Mal. She puts her hands around Evie and kisses her on the top of the head, making Evie smile against her neck.

“You must be tired,” Mal mumbles.

“A bit, yeah.”

“Come here.” Mal drags her gently to the bed, letting them fall on the soft mattress without letting Evie go. She puts the cover over them, and Evie snuggles up to her, knowing full well that Mal is too nervous to do it herself. Mal lets out a little gasp.

Is this heaven, Evie wonders as Mal caresses her cheek. Has she died, is Mal some sort of angel? But even before the thought is fully formed, she knows it to be untrue. Mal is just a person, a human, like Evie, a whole person who gets angry and sad and scared, but also happy and excited and smug. Mal is alive, with a heart pumping hot blood to functioning organs, and Evie is so grateful for the human that is Mal.

“I can see you thinking,” Mal breathes. “Is it your mom?”

“No,” Evie admits. “I’m thinking about you.”

Mal smiles. “Really.”

“I’m thinking about when we met. I thought you were scary.”

“You’re not the first.”

“I didn’t think I was.”

Silence.

“Why did you draw me?”

Mal sighs. “I have already told you that. You looked so beautiful.  I like to draw beautiful things.”

“Did you just call me a thing?” Evie says, confused and maybe a little offended.

“Yup,” Mal says, popping the p. She gives Evie a little kiss, humour glinting in her eyes. Then she looks a little guilty, no, not guilty, _embarrassed._ “It may or may not also have something to do with the fact that I’m horribly, terribly bad at flirting.”

“You were trying to flirt!” Evie says gleefully. “Oh my God!”

“Shut up,” Mal growls.

“Did you have a crush on me?”

“No—“

“You did! You totally did!”

Mal takes her wrists and pins them down, leaning over and kisses her, roughly, letting her tongue flicker over Evie’s lips. Evie is kind of breathless when she draws back.

“I did too,” Evie admits, and something softens in Mal’s eyes.

They lay in the bed for a long time, but Evie can feel Mal growing tenser and tenser. They hear a sound from downstairs, and finally Mal can’t take it anymore, she stands up. “I have to be downstairs,” she says, and _now_ there’s guilt in her voice.

Evie doesn’t protest, standing up as well. “I’ll come with you. You know you don’t have to do everything alone, right?”

“Yeah,” Mal says, kissing her. “But I tend to forget.”

They go downstairs, spending the rest of the night on Mal’s sofa, sleeping on and off, drinking cocoa and watching TV. It’s a long night, but it’s a good one. There’s no rush.

They’ll take one step at a time.


End file.
